


Ladybugsfanfics Daily Marvel Drabbles

by LadybugsFanfics



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Poetic, a dose of some drabbles that are called daily but they arent really, daily drabbles, idk - Freeform, im sorry about that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22018984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadybugsFanfics/pseuds/LadybugsFanfics
Summary: A series of short drabbles (somewhere between 100 to 1000 words) with marvel characters. Everything is reader insert. Idk how to really set the tone for this so have a sneak peak at one that I really loved writing;It was a chance meeting.A glance in the crowded floor of a night club. A shared dance in the middle of the crowd, bodies pushing from every side but only yours and his eyes locked together, creating the illusion that there were only the two of you.One beer at the bar. One drink at a booth. One shot before another dance.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Reader, Clint Barton/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Loki (Marvel) & Reader, Loki (Marvel)/Reader, Peter Parker & Reader, Peter Parker/Reader, Steve Rogers & Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Kudos: 18





	1. 01 - sonder | peter parker & reader;

**SONDER**

> _(n) the realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own_

You sit on the rooftop, feet dangling a the edge. The fear of falling down doesn’t sit inside you, only a slight fear that someone might push you because you’re not on guard. However, you’re not giving that bit much thought. 

“Have you ever thought about what happens out there?” Your voice is light, far off and you’re looking into the distance and not at him. 

“Sometimes.” 

You glance over at Peter, watch his feet dangle the same as yours. His eyes are fixed on you, widening the smile across his face. You return his smile. “Ever think about what happens in those places where police cars are at the scene, the ambulance is pulling up, people are standing along as close as they can, watching the scene? Ever think about what happens afterwards?”

Peter casts a glance out to the streets. His eyes shift over the buildings and the smile is gone from his face. “I think about those people I save, the ones I help.”

“How they got into that situation? How they’re going about their life afterwards?” 

He nods. “I like to make up stories for them. Think up the most complex lives ever. Most end up being double agents. I’m sure I’ve saved someone working in the FBI or CIA.” 

A laugh bubbles out from you, a smile coloring your face at the certainty in his voice. “You’re certain? Okay, tell me one of the stories.” 

Peter goes into great detail about this man he once saved. He tells about how he got into the situation, why he was there and how he was saved. He talks about what the man did afterwards. How he changed his life, how he decided to do more good and how he’s on a mission to help reform prison life in America. To be honest, you kind of wish Peter’s story to be true. 

And you voice so, when he’s finished. 

With the beaming smile on your best friends face, you nod and talk about a woman you once met at a grocery store. In turn, you make up the weirdest and most complex stories passerbys have. 

A woman running the mafia, never being caught because everyone thinks it’s her husband. A kid genius being recruited by the government to help make use of alien technology and only agreeing because _aliens_. A college student who has the best time whenever he’s able to take time off his part time job that he says is to intern at Stark Industries, but really is him running around and being Spider-Man. 

Peter glares at you for the last one, but you only laugh and grin at him. The two of you stare out at the vast sea of people that is New York City. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying to think of all the lives people are living, how there are so many people you won’t ever get to know because somehow, you ended up being you. 

How different would life be if you were another person? 

You don’t ever want to find out. Life on the rooftops with Peter, late night talks where all you do is make fun of each other, the chance to tease others because you’re able to meet all the avengers (even though this isn’t something you’re really allowed to tell). 

Life couldn’t be greater, no matter how vivid or complex others’ lives are, yours is the only one you want. 


	2. 02 - clinomania | steve rogers x reader;

**CLINOMANIA**

> _(n) an excessive desire to stay in bed_

The morning light shines through the blinds, draping a shade of orangy pink light across the room. Bright light dances behind your eyelids, slowly dragging you out of the wonderful dream you’d had. 

A strong arm lies tied securely around you. You turn in it, finding a nook to lie down peacefully and take in the scent of your boyfriend. The light falls away with your back against the window and your closed eyes fall back into a serene darkness. 

“It’s morning’, doll,” whispers his groggy voice in your ear. 

You shake your head. “I’m staying right here, and you’re not going anywhere either.” 

A warm laugh bellows from Steve, the rumbling shaking your bones. You smile at his laughter, but your eyes stay closed. His hand traces up your back, calloused fingertips that trace soft lines along your skin. 

“You know, this isn’t helping you in getting me up.” 

He places a kiss to your forehead. “Not trying to either.” 

You smile, curling further into him and placing a kiss on the skin of his collarbone. Your eyes stay shut. “Good.” 

There’s nothing greater than spending the day in bed with your boyfriend. Either in the morning light or the midnight sun, it doesn’t matter, as long as you can snuggle and turn your back on the world. 

Days off are the days where you get to relax. No one is going to take that away from you. Though Steve might take the relaxation out of it if he continues to press kisses to your skin, tracing upwards to capture your lips. 

Pleasure is a part of the off days, too. You don’t mind. You’re still gonna be in bed. 


	3. 03 - ephemeral | loki x reader;

**EPHEMERAL**

> _(adj.) lasting for a very short time_

It was a chance meeting. 

A glance in the crowded floor of a night club. A shared dance in the middle of the crowd, bodies pushing from every side but only yours and his eyes locked together, creating the illusion that there were only the two of you. 

One beer at the bar. One drink at a booth. One shot before another dance. 

Your bodies moved in sync. His hips against yours, his hand firmly on your back, your arms loosely at your sides though gently finding excuses to touch him now and then. 

A whisper in the chaos of the crowd. A question of where to next. A smirk, a pounding heart, and a yes. 

The night is cold. A breeze that shifts over you and has you lightly rub your arms to bring back the warmth. It’s still better than the night club, better than the anxiety induced pounding of music and uncontrolling crowd of drunks. 

One cab ride later. One set of stairs later. One unlocked door later. 

A light kiss shared in the darkness of an apartment. A hard shove against the wall as the hunger overtook. Hands crawling over every inch of your body, finding the slight slip of skin between your jeans and your top. A shiver at the burning sensation his touch brings. 

Your bra unhooked. His shirt ripped off. Hands tangled in raven locks of hair.

A hoist of your hips and your legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck. His scent filling into your nose as your mouths locked together. 

Pants off. Underwear discarded.

A soft bed to land on, a rough hand to slither up along your naked leg. Soft strokes to your inner thigh, working themselves up, up, up. 

Lips crashed together. Lips met neck, small pecks, hands roaming. Soft strands of hair tugged at and muffled groans of pleasure. 

A night that lasted forever. A night that went into pleasure again and again and again. A night succumbed to the pleasure of a stranger who knows what he’s doing. 

You waking up to arms wrapped around your body. You sneaking out, finding a way out quietly. Clothes pulled on in a hurry, in a frenzy not to wake him. 

A keepsake stuffed into your pocket. 

The walk of shame you’re not really that shameful off. The smile on your lips at the thought of the night’s bypassing minutes, the large hands, the experienced tongue, the _holy fuck_ of thrusting. 

The first week a reminder on your neck. 

The first month a reminder of the memory. 

The next years until the memory is forgotten, lost, kept at the back of your mind as you settle in with the love of your life. 

Reminded again when something happens and the keepsake reappears. So much in such short time. 

Lost for now, but never forever. 


	4. 04 - ethereal | bucky barnes x reader;

**ETHEREAL**

> _(adj.) extremely delicate, light, not of this world_

To be honest, no one wants to be seen as delicate really. It almost sounds vulnerable, but in a slightly different way. No one wants to be seen as weak or defenseless. No one wants to be perceived as powerless and fragile. 

Yet, _delicate_ is the exact word Bucky uses to describe you. Delicate in the way you speak, in the way you hold yourself, in the way you act around others. Delicate in the way your fingers slithers through the long strands of his hair, in the way your fingers traces down his chest, in the way you show your love for him. Delicate in the little things you do, in the little things you say, in the little things that makes you you. 

Sometimes, he thinks of you as light. Not in the weightsense, but more personality-wise. How you’re light on your feet, ready to fight back if needed. How you’re quick witted and take any comment directed at you lightheartedly. There’s just something easy and natural and indescribable to the way you behave, something so very comforting. Something _light_. 

But the description of you he holds the highest, is extraordinary. Everything about you is _out of this world_. How lovely you are, how smart you are, how beautiful you are. There isn’t one thing about you that doesn’t constantly amaze him. Not one thing that doesn’t have his stomach flutter and his lungs ache and his heart squeeze tightly because _you’re not true._

Once, he searched it up. He wanted a word to describe the features he holds with you, a word to describe what you hold within yourself. 

_Ethereal._

Any chance he gets, he uses the word. Whether you’re in pyjamas, a gown, training wear or something else, the word to describe you is ethereal. The word describes you especially well when you’re naked and he can show his love for you, when the world only revolves around you. 

_Ethereal._

That’s the only way to describe you, and sometimes he’s not even sure that word do you any justice.


	5. KALSARIKÄNNIT (FINNISH) | clint barton x reader;

**KALSARIKÄNNIT (FINNISH) | clint barton x reader;**

> _(v.) to get drunk alone at home in your underwear_

The door opens with a creak; a long, unnerving creak that shakes you out of your thoughts. Your head shoots up to see who opened it, and the man who greets you from the doorway has your heart skip a beat. 

Clint’s eyes trail up and down your body, brows raised and a slightly unamused look on his face. “What are you doing?”

_Oh, that’s right._

You’re sitting on the floor, in only your underwear (it’s the nice underwear, thank god), with half a bottle of vodka next to you. One hand is wrapped around the bottle and the other hangs loosely at your side. 

“I’m―” You make a grimace up at Clint, uncertainty clear in your eyes because _what_ are _you doing?_

“Fine.” Clint closed the door and finds a seat next to you. He puts an arm around your shoulder and pulls you close. You can smell his cologne and you breathe it in, a smile forming on your face as you do. 

Only half your mind is present and it’s the one that feels for another drink. You get as far as putting your lips to the vodka bottle, but as you’re about to tip it, Clint has taken it from your hands. 

You pout at him. “My bottle,” you say and make grabby hands after it. 

“Have you drunk the other half that’s not in the bottle?” 

The look on his face―the furrow of his brows, the unamused tug of his lips, the intense look in his (alluring and mesmerizing) blue eyes―has you look away and shrug guilty. Your eyes look everywhere except at him (no matter how hard it is with those piercing blue eyes staring at you). 

“Y/N,” he says, voice stern. It demands your attention and it’s the last straw for him gaining it. You turn your head back, giving him the biggest puppy-dog eyes you can. “Wanna bother telling me what it’s about?”

You shake your head, lips pressed tightly together. Yet, some voice at the back of your mind yells at you to tell him. He’s your boyfriend, he deserves to know when something’s bothering you. 

But you also know he won’t push it. 

“Okay, baby,” he says, sensing the slight fear in your features. He presses a kiss to your forehead and pulls you in for a hug, letting you rest your head on his chest. His hand strokes through the strands of your hair. 

The drum of your heart, that was there before you found the bottle of vodka, returns with his strokes. It soothes you, turns down the volume of your thoughts. 

After a while, with your mind off drowning yourself in alcohol, and Clint’s steady breath at your side mixed with him tracing his fingers through your hair, you pull out of the hug. You smile at your boyfriend, mouth a ‘thank you’ and press a chaste kiss to his lips. 

If there’s one thing you can always count on, it’s that, whenever you decide to drink in your underwear, your boyfriend is never far away and always ready to help. 


End file.
